


Transformations

by ScarletteStar1



Category: Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types, Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Beauty and the Beast, Desire, Erotic, F/M, Fantasy, First Kiss, First Time, Lust, Magic, Masturbation, Rumbelle - Freeform, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23067745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletteStar1/pseuds/ScarletteStar1
Summary: Rumplestiltskin delights in his magic and uses it often to transform Belle into different living creatures with which he can play, at which he can marvel. It is a way he can draw her near, feel her close to him, because deep down he knows no one could ever truly love a beast. But his magic seems to create a desire in Belle to prove him wrong.
Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Comments: 69
Kudos: 45





	1. The First Time

He holds the butterfly to the light.

Admiring it from different angles, he glows with pride at what he’s done.

His treasure flutters against his palm and tickles him. His high pitched giggle startles it, but rather than fly off, it stills against his flesh.

“Come on now, Dearie,” he whispers and his breath stirs her wings. His marbled eyes swirl, an entire universe of wonder before the tiny creature.

_He is unnatural. He is incredible._

Sensing her thoughts, he smiles. She finds an eerie beauty in his jagged, rotten teeth, as if he’s exposed the side of a mountain in mysterious sunset shadow.

_How his skin sparkles!_

“You sparkle too, my pet,” he croons. He’s almost blinding in the light by the window where he holds her up.

She’d torn down the curtains and fallen into his arms. Even in this very small form, she remembers how her heart beat as he held her, fiercely strong and protective. He’d not allowed her to hang the curtains again, so light pours into the room they share by day. She slows her wings and beats them against his deeply lined hand. She tries to make every minuscule feather of herself sparkle too, just like him.

He closes his eyes to the sensation and tips his head back, as though it overwhelms him. A moan, much deeper than his wicked cackle, escapes his throat. Then he quickly tosses her up in the air. For a brief and exquisite moment, she flies in a spiral around the vaulted ceiling, then falls and lands in a shimmer of light. Human again.

She loses her balance, but this time he does not catch her and she drops to her knees at his feet.

He growls and rushes from the room before a single syllable emerges from her open lips.


	2. Animate Objects

A bunny he can pet.

A blossoming orchid in a pot next to which he can sit and read stories aloud.

A slinky, white cat to whom he feeds bowl after bowl of milk until she curls up and purrs in a heavy sleep next to him.

A dragonfly he watches dance about the great hall.

He delights in his magic and uses it often to transform Belle into different living creatures with which he can play, at which he can marvel.

His magic is whimsical and makes him clasp his hands together and laugh like a boy.

She finds his pleasure curious. In her different forms, she is able to study him from many different angles, to familiarize herself with him in ways she is not able to as a human. It is a strange privilege, and although she knows he can read her thoughts when he has used his magic to transform her, she is not certain he is aware she studies him thus.

In the beginning it frightens her, not knowing which creature she will become, but the beast is so kind, so indulgent with her in all of her various forms, she begins to relax and almost look forward to these peculiar sessions. Although she’d not admit it to anyone, and maybe not even to herself, she adores the sense of being held in his arms and pet as a rabbit. One day she falls asleep in his lap and wakes many hours later, still fuzzy and gray, to find him gently stroking her long, velvety ears, a look of contentment on his face.

She learns what is like to drink from roots and breathe through the cells of her petals as a flower. She experiences the pleasure of feeling her entire body vibrate with a soothing purr when she is in feline form. The magic of flight as a butterfly or dragonfly might be her favorite wonder, though, as it is the closest thing to freedom she’s known since coming to live in the castle with the beast.

Weeks blend into months, and their magical sessions take on a sort of pattern. Belle actually finds she is no longer scared of him and she does not really mind shifting her shape to make him dance and grin. After all, his glee is entirely preferable to the moments of savage violence she’s not witnessed, but can hear echo throughout the castle in terrifying waves when she is alone in her room, late at night.

Even worse, she finds, are the moments when he is distantly maudlin, and sits morosely at his spinning wheel for hours or even days on end, turning straw to gold, not moving to eat or drink, and refusing to return a single word to her.

Indeed, she finds herself willing to turn inside out to spare his rage or sorrow. Beyond curiosity and self preservation, she is not sure why.

But it takes a toll on her. After each transformation, she is too exhausted to raise her head off of her pillow for days.

During this time, he waits on her. He carries her limp and useless body to her bed and tucks her under layers of silken covers. He brings tea and cakes to her bed chamber. He holds her head up so she can drink and feeds her crumbs of sweets so she regains strength. During this time, he is patient, abiding, almost stern in his care of her.

Best of all, he brings books and reads to her until she is strong enough to hold them and read for herself.

“Why?” She asks him one day, as he brings a spoon of berries and cream to her mouth. They’d most recently finished a session in which he’d made her into a lizard and she scampered all over his body, desperately seeking warmth as she tickled him into helpless laughter. He’d finally caught her wriggling body and set her in the sun on the windowsill.

“You need your sustenance,” he replies simply and pokes the spoon at her. She wriggles up in the bed and puts her hand over his. It is rare for her to touch him in her human form, and he winces visibly at the sight of her slender, pale fingers upon his gold flecked flesh and ebony nails. Looking up from their hands to her face, his eyes widen.

“No,” Belle says, her voice weak, but firm. “Why are you doing this to me? Why do you keep changing me?”

“Because I can,” he says and she knows this is partially truth. She opens her mouth and accepts the spoonful of sweet cream and berries. He blinks and she admires the soft fringe of golden lash alight upon his cheek.

She swallows. “Why else?”

His eyes meet hers and perplex her as she tries to discern their color. “Because you enjoy it,” he says and she knows this is another part of the truth.


	3. Cold Blooded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I cannot resist a chapter of dark and brooding man lust. . . 
> 
> please feel free to comment and thank you ever so for reading.

Alone at his spinning wheel, he finds no solace, even as sweet smelling straw transforms to a pile of gold large enough to feed a hundred kingdoms.

He pauses and rolls his shoulders, trying in vain to rid himself of memories inextricably woven into his very flesh.

Cocking his head to the crackle of the fire, he contemplates how fun it has been to have such a pliant, new, little toy. Oh she pleases him, this one. Perhaps it is just part of the spell, but the girl even seems to enjoy their games! It is a treat to see how eager she is to subject herself to his magic, how she gives herself so willingly to his wizardry. At times, she seems to nearly trust him.

Why then, is it a nuisance to think on her, to remember stroking her velvety fur as she slept curled upon his lap with her bunny nose twitching almost comically? Why does it create a gnawing pain in his chest to not have her curled and dozing nearby at this very moment?

She is too tantalizing as a human; that is a perfect fact. If it challenges to recall her in spellbound form, it completely tortures to think of her drifting through his rooms, dusting artifacts and shelving books, her lilting voice humming as she goes. He does not know if the rustle of her lake blue skirts are agony or bliss to his finely tuned ears.

Curse upon curse.

He escapes one thought to find himself in the grip of another. Emerald eyes and ruby lips set in ivory skin- her precious face is a treasure box of untold wonders! Then of course there is the matter of her exotic vanilla breath and night blooming jasmine skin.

Naturally, she is in her own room, tucked away from him.

“Safe and sound, Dearie. Safe and sound,” he mutters bitterly. Naturally, a warm blooded creature would not want to be near a beast of their own volition.

It would be difficult to chose in which form he has enjoyed her most. She certainly was amusing as a plump, lazy kitten. She had an indescribable grace as a flower, and as a butterfly she was nothing short of magnificent.

But there was something about the heat-seeking reptile he’d created several days past. He thinks of her tiny, lizard feet pitter pattering over his arms, up and down his neck. The sensation stirs him now as it had then. It quickens his heart, coils like a heated chain deep in his belly. She’d been wild in her reptilian form, uncertain and cold, just wanting to warm herself. He had placed her upon him to warm her, and she’d run over his clothes until she found his scaly skin which she then ran over repeatedly until she found a spot in the join of his neck and shoulder, but not before tickling him mercilessly.

He hadn’t laughed so vigorously since. . . well, maybe ever. Even now, he smiles as he closes his eyes and recalls her delicate, forked tongue darting out to tickle his ear. He could hear her heart beat and her breath come in little gasps of thanks as she curled upon him. With a single finger, he stroked her delicate, shimmering scales, careful not to scratch her with his black talon.

He had loved her then, curled upon his shoulder, with claws like him. And recognizing the feeling in his stony cool heart, he plucked her up and placed her in a patch of sun.

Of course a cold blooded monster such as himself would be more comfortable with a creature equally as cool.

It makes perfect sense to him.

He squirms on his stool. His leather breeches have suddenly become much too snug around his manhood, which bulges and strains and begs for attention. With an uncomfortable gulp, he leaps to his feet and paces before the fire. He sloshes crimson wine into a large, jeweled goblet and throws it back. The burn in his throat distracts him but momentarily from the burning desire in his groin. He hasn’t felt this aroused since. . . well, maybe ever.

“If ever there was a curse, it is that a demon might desire human pleasure,” he muses to the fire. _What would Belle say about this?_ He wonders and brushes a hand down over his hardness. He has not touched himself in ever so long, but he’s half mad now, burning hot. He tears open his shirt and his golden chest sparkles in the light of the fire. “Fuck all. Fuck it all! I can’t. . . it is wrong. I must stop!”

He realizes the games must stop.

He cannot desire closeness with another and destruction of the world that has caused him such pain at the same time. It is madness! It must stop.

And yet. . .

He turns to his shelf of glowing bottles and finds the one which will ease this insanity. Uncorking it, he places it near his face and inhales vanilla and jasmine as he unlaces his breeches. “This is it. After this it fucking ends,” he swears, as his glittering, golden prick springs from his pants and he takes himself in hand.

He does not bother to sit back down, so urgent is his need for relief. Bracing himself with one hand against the mantle, he begins to stroke his throbbing cock. He circles and squeezes the head with his fingers to bring up his slick, and then slides his fingers back down over his shaft. He’s not indulged in this excess since he was a boy, and even then it was far more innocent than it is now as he pumps himself in his fist.

What would he want? Her hand? Her mouth? Her quim? The questions alone shame him even as they flame his want. Anything. He could cum on her thigh having barely touched her skin. He knows it. His breath races with the rhythm of his hand as he caresses his hot prick. Oh to be in her! Oh to know her silken embrace as it quivers around his burning need!

And! And!

He would make her feel so good as well! Their pleasure would be the same, an echo of perfect and beautiful love and desire. He would join with her and take her slowly, would make her fly with him until they built themselves to a point of impossibility and had no other choice but to surrender to the gloaming throb.

His belly tightens as he strokes himself up to the place of no return. He twists his face to his arm and bites into his forearm as he pulls tight and hard on his overly sensitive cock. He doesn’t want to cum. He has to cum. He needs to cum. He wants it. He hates it. He cannot not cum as he fists his prick into an impossibly savage finish. “Belle!” He cries out her name with every pump of his hand as his seed spurts and sizzles in the fire. “My little lizard fairy,” he grunts and milks the last of his spendings.

He looks down at his prick in his hand. It shimmers gold and he tucks it back into his breeches.

“What have you done to me, Belle?” He whispers as he resumes his seat at the spinning wheel, takes a packet of straw and begins to spin again. 

Alone, he finds no solace. 


	4. More Than Just Monster

“Why don’t we ever go outside?” Belle asks one morning. She pauses in her work and looks out the window dreamily at sun soaked gardens below. “Your gardens look lovely.”

The beast crosses his legs, turns a page in his book and does not answer her. He lowers his face closer to the page, obscuring his profile with his thick curls. Belle sighs, hoping to catch his attention, but eliciting not so much as a glance in her direction.

While their daily domesticity has moments of tranquility, and their spell sessions even have sparks of fun, Belle yearns for something more. Days like this, where her master barely even notices her existence, displease her much.

Running her fingertips back and forth over the wooden ledge of the window, she tries again. “Have you many gardeners to tend your lands? It all looks pristine, and yet I’ve never seen anyone out there,” she glances again at him and continues with a little smile. “Back home, I had a small garden. It wasn’t much but I loved being there. I grew roses mostly, and some herbs. My sisters were horrified that I could put my bare hands in the soil, but I adored it. I even loved the little worms and caterpillars. Father said it was very unladylike. As if it wasn’t bad enough I relished books, well, to play in the dirt had them all at wits end!”

Still nothing.

She swallows and adds, “I think they were concerned I’d never catch a husband with my peculiar ways.” She stares at the beast, who’s countenance has not even acknowledged the sound of her voice. She moves so she can see more of his speckled face beneath his hair. He blinks at his book. A pang of frustration flickers in her throat as she calculates a risk and decides to say, “I guess their worries were unfounded in that particular department. Why, they never would have _dreamed_ what they should have _really_ feared.”

This last statement gathers his attention.

Slowly, he closes his book and raises his eyes to meet hers. He sets his book on the table next to him and stands. Although he is not an excessively tall man, he’s presence commands excessive respect and attention.

Belle shivers as he approaches, but she does not look away from his eyes, which swirl with a forest of green as they meet hers. Reflexively, she clutches the sturdy fabric of the blue day dress she wears for cleaning.

“We do not go outside, Dearie, because it is not safe for you beyond the castle walls. And I do not have need for gardeners because as the Dark One, nature bows to my bidding and arranges herself for me just as I please.” He speaks slowly, lowly, without any of mischievous cadence.

“Oh,” Belle gasps.

“Understand?”

“Yes. Yes, I do,” she says shakily.

“Now, as charming as your story time has been, I have things to do, so I will thank you to quiet yourself and speak no more of these things. Are we understood, Dearie?”

“Ye-yes,” Belle nods. “Yes, but, well, it’s just that. . .”

“It’s _just that_ what?” His voice slithers around her neck, a ribbon of cool tension. Her pulse races. His animal senses feel the accelerated rhythm and he raises a finger to her throat, presses it against the beating vein and drags it down over her neck to the center of her chest. He leans in close and takes a deep breath. “I can smell your fear, my pet,” he whispers close to her ear. Belle’s legs threaten to go out from under her.

“I am _not_ afraid,” she tries. Her mind twists as it attempts to make sense of this savage creature before her, to reconcile him with the being who dances with joy at her antics as different animals and then cares for her so tenderly afterward. Rationalizing makes her dizzy as she stands so close she inhales his licorice-scented breath. She knows not whether she wants to reach for him, to feel the solidity of his body beneath her, or if she wants to turn and run.

“Do not lie to me,” he breathes. “Because you know, I can smell that too.” Without meaning to, Belle grabs his elbow to steady herself. He hisses at her touch, but rather than push her away, he pulls her impulsively into his body. He buries his face in her neck and growls as he wraps her hair around his fist, pulling back her head. His other hand finds the small of her back and presses her so close she is certain he will crush her. Belle hardly has time to realize what has occurred before it is over and he stands on the other side of the room. “You are done for the day. Go to your chamber, Dearie,” he says cooly. Turning his back, he begins to walk from the room.

“No!” Belle cries.

“No?” He says incredulously and whips around.

“No. I want to go outside. Please, take me. I know I will be safe with you. You are the Dark One after all. You’ll protect me.”

“Go to your room, Belle,” he manages.

“You said I am afraid, but I am not! I think it is you who are frightened,” she swallows hard and takes a step toward him. “What are _you_ afraid of? You are all powerful. You should fear nothing! Take me outside!”

“I would not continue on this course if I were you,” he snarls.

“Or what? Are you going to kill me? Tear me apart, will you? Or are you going to turn me to stone and put me on a shelf to collect dust? I don’t think so.”

“Oh no? And what would stop me? It would serve you right to be turned to ash for this insolence!”

“I think your feelings for me would stop you. I know you have a heart in there. I have seen it. I can feel it! When you change me and care for me, I know that you are more than just monster. Please, please! I want to go outside.”

“It is not possible, Belle,” he says, but this time his voice has softened and sounds almost sad. “Do not ask again.”

“I need air and sunlight and to feel fresh grass under my bare feet,” she sobs, “Oh, please! Are you frightened I will run? I will not! I promise you I will not run away. Look! If it makes you feel better, turn me into something you can take out there- a snail, or a flower in a pot; something that cannot run away!”

“That is not how it works. You do not own the magic here, Girlie. Now go to your room before I send you to the stone cell and lock you in!” His eyes are a maddening ink and Belle knows she has crossed a line she did not even know existed.


	5. Doorway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of you want to know if my Belle is as attracted to my Rumple as he is to her. . . well. . . perhaps you shall find some answers herein. xoxoxo. Please comment and let me know how you are thinking of my fic. I am absolutely loving every moment of writing for these two. . .

She does not know how long she lies and weeps on her bed. 

It is the first time she has cried with such utter grief for all things lost since coming to live with this terrible being. Most days, she feels content knowing she’s saved her family and village from his dark magic, but on this day she finds no peace. She sobs until her ribs threaten to break in her chest, and then she lies, exhausted and empty. 

Perhaps she’d tricked herself into believing such a monster could actually feel for a girl such as herself. But the abhorrence in his eyes had spoken a much different tale. It is enough to make her blush with shame and cry with despair anew. 

What’s worse is the anger she feels toward herself for wanting to be held and comforted by none other than the one who holds her captive and looks upon her with such hatred. Who was the man who fed her so devotedly at her bedside while she recovered from the spell play? And who was the creature who had laughed and danced with glee as she fluttered throughout his great room? She cannot reconcile it. 

Oh, and then, his touch. . . Had he truly put his hand over her heart today with such a ferocious look writ across his face? Had his gnarled fingers truly graced her flesh while in its human form, and why did it make her body boil so? Thinking on it now, questioning its reality, she feels a spark of longing that tightens her chest and heats her blood. 

When she finally raises her head, it is dusk. She sits up and feels a terrible pit of hunger. Not knowing if he will deign to eat with her after what transpired earlier that day, she decides to venture down to the kitchen to find some bread and cheese to bring back to her room. But when she tries her door, she finds it is locked. With an irritated sigh, she turns back toward her bed, but finds instead another door where she is quit sure one never had been. 

Tentatively, she approaches the door. It opens easily and swings wide to reveal a garden so vast it would take days to explore. Above her head, sky fills with violet clouds and stars begin to take their places for the night. She steps out onto a bed of soft grass, realizing with a little sniff of laughter her feet are bare and the grass is cool and dewy beneath them. 

Belle turns in wonder, inhaling night blooming jasmine and wild orchids that twist and turn around trellises and line a path. She follows the path deeper into the garden, making stops every now and again to admire exquisite roses of every color, shape, and size. Though it is night, butterflies and birds flutter softly about her. 

“Hello, Belle,” the beast stands in shadow beneath a lovely gazebo. She meanders up to him, her mouth open in surprise. 

“You? You did this?”

“I did,” he says. His voice is soft and low. He stands with his hands clasped in front of him. He wears a simple white blouse that laces elegantly in the front and looks regal and no less vulnerable for lack of his crocodile skin coat and vest. “Do you like it?” 

“It. . . it’s magnificent!” She turns round and notices a babbling brook which leads to a small pond filled with shiny, silver and gold fish. “But, why?”

“I sat outside your door and listened to you cry all afternoon,” he says. “Will you please forgive me for my temper earlier? I know this does not make it right, but I wanted you to have something special.”

“Is this magic?” 

“It is. If you like it, I will leave the door in your chamber, and it will be here for you whenever you please.” 

“Thank you,” she whispers and realizes she has been changed into a gown of shimmering lilac and silver silk. “Oh, and a new dress too? Do I also get to keep this?” She laughs. 

“Absolutely,” he says and smiles. “I know you’ve not eaten all day, so I have prepared some supper for you. I will take my leave and allow you to eat in peace. You will be safe here. Just follow the path when you are ready to return to your bed, yes?” A candlelit table overflows with fruit and cheeses, breads, meats, and all kinds of her favorite sweets. She nods. “Very well then,” he bows stiffly and begins to walk away. 

“Wait,” she cries. “Won’t you stay? I mean, there is way too much food here for one person, and I’d rather enjoy your company.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I am sure. Please stay.”

“As you wish,” he says and pulls out a chair for her. 

A peacock strolls across a patch of moonlight on the path and Belle is suddenly aware gentle music mingles with songs of insects and birds chirping away in the shadows. The beast pours sparkling, golden wine into glasses for them and with a wave of his hand, her plate fills to its edges. 

A firefly lights before her and she gasps. It gives her an idea. “Would you like to change me? I could be a firefly? Or a bat?” His eyes narrow at her and she quickly says, “I’m sorry, I know I don’t control the magic. It isn’t my place, I just thought. Well, it seems to please you when I change and. . .I could be a little creature of the night for you, if it would please you?”

“And you like to please me, Belle?”

“Yes,” she nods. “I do like to please you. I like it so much when you seem carefree or content like you do when you play with me. You seem so sad or enraged other times. I don’t mean to overstep, I just wanted to offer. That’s all.”

“It is sweet of you, Dearie,” he sighs. “But you need not change for me tonight. Tonight is just for you.” 

Nibbling a grape, she says, “You did all this for me?” 

“Indeed.”

“You think maybe I was right then about you having a heart beneath that tough, golden hide?” 

He gives her a sideways look that could be filled with warning, but his lips twitch as though he might smile. “Careful, Dearie,” he says gently. 

Emboldened by the wine or his smile or by the magic in the air, Belle grins until her eyes crinkle and says, “Oh, come now. You couldn’t possibly be cross with me when I’m wearing this dress and looking this fine? Could you?” 

He chuckles, “I don’t think there is a dress in the world that could compete with your smile when it goes all the way up to your eyes like that, Belle.”

“Well, thank you,” Belle says and bites at her lips, wondering if or how she could or should return the compliment. “Your powers are amazing and very strong,” she says at last, but there is an awkwardness to her words. For some time, they eat in a companionable quiet together, until she can stand it no longer and peers up from beneath her eyelashes and poses a question she has often wondered. “I also like to see you smile, but I’ve noticed it is rare. Tell me, it is true you are quite sad, sometimes?”

“Aren’t we all quite sad sometimes?” He volleys her question back to her. “You must be very sad quite often, here with me.”

“I admit I am lonely, sometimes. But your library is a terrific comfort, and you’ve been an indulgent master.”

“Mmmh. I suppose I am your master,” he says although his voice does not sound as if he much likes the term. “And does it frighten you to be here? To hear me rage or to see me sulk? I know I can be mercurial.” 

“I suppose you could tell me the answer to that, seeing as how you can smell my fear and all,” she chides. 

“Fair enough!” He laughs and fills their glasses again with the fizzing liquid that tastes sweet and delicious and seems to quench even her deepest thirst. 

The sounds of stream and breeze through the trees is almost hypnotic. The beast looks out over the gardens and Belle takes the opportunity to look at him, much as she does when she is transformed into one of her magical natures. His shaggy hair gleams in the moonlight and his skin sparkles as it always does, but there seems something different to Belle about him. 

“You study me?” He startles her out of her haze. 

“Oh, I am sorry! I was entranced by all the sounds and smells of this night. . . and. . . and the way your skin glitters, well, it rather tricks the eyes.” 

“Do you find me entirely monstrous then, Belle?” 

“No,” Belle reaches for his hand and covers it with her own. He looks down and she wonders if he is surprised or angry that she’s touched him, yet she is unafraid and does not move her hand away. Instead, she strokes his knuckles and squeezes his fingers. Then she stands and moves to seat herself on his knee. With a boldness she’s never known, she puts her arms around his shoulders. She strokes his face and arches her back slightly, so her throat and chest is exposed. It pleases her when his nostrils flare and she knows he smells truth deep within her. “I find you entirely magical.”


	6. Nature

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo.... things are gonna heat up a bit in terms of the speed of the burn. I hope this does not offend my gentle readers. As ever, thank you for your time and please feel free to comment. I adore you!!!

“What are you doing, Belle? At what game do you play?”

“It is no game, My Lord,” she says and bats her eyes at him. Unable to resist the scent of her truth, his arms encircle her slender waist. The preternatural silk of her gown doesn’t hold a candle to the softness of her flesh as he touches his nose to her collarbones. He looks up and her turquoise eyes become the entire world.

Placing a hand on either side of his face, she holds it with a touch more gentle than ever he’s known. A strange sound comes from his throat. He could weep with what he feels right now, but does not even know how to name it. “Belle,” he whispers against her heartbeat.

“Yes, Master,” she says with an impossibly seductive butter in her voice. He wonders if he hasn’t miscalculated on the magic in this garden, made it too strong. And yet another part of his twisted soul could care less. He grabs a plump blackberry from the table and brings it to her lips. She opens instantly for him and accepts the fruit and his fingertips. With a delighted smile, she chews the berry. “Delicious,” she declares. He reaches for a piece of cheese and feeds her again, then giggles as she nips his knuckle. In a truly impulsive move, he reaches to a little bowl of honey, dips two fingers in and curls them as he raises them to her already parted mouth. She sucks the sweetness from his digits, swirls her tongue against the pads of his fingers which are not so callused they cannot feel every little nodule of her wet tongue on him.

“You are pleasure personified, my sweet,” he breathes.

“Then why were you so angry with me today?” Her breath, sweetly scented with fruit, honey, and wine, puffs on his face and threatens to intoxicate him.

“Why are you so curious?”

“Tis in my nature, I suppose,” she sighs and nuzzles her nose against his. “To be curious.”

“Curse your nature,” he grumbles and tightens his grip around her waist.

“Are we not already cursed, both of us?”

“Ah, your wit is clever, Little One,” he sighs.

“I don’t mean to be witty. I mean to speak truthfully.”

“Well, perhaps that is why I was so cross then. Or perhaps it is _just in my nature_ , Dearie. Perhaps it is better not to ask, and perhaps it is better not to toy with a beast. Could be dangerous, could it not?”

“I already told you, I do not play. And I am not scared, Beast.” She presses her lips against his forehead quickly and burrows her head against his shoulder. “I am here of my own free will,” she whispers into his ear. At the breeze of her breath, he shivers and shakes.

“Your own free will? Is that so?”

“Yes,” she says and twists a curl of his hair around her finger.

“And what if you are not?” He pushes away to consider her clear eyes and creamy skin. “You must consider the possibility this is just magic, that you are simply here in my arms as a result of my will. My will is magic, Dearie, and magic is never free. Magic always comes with a price.” Though his words scold, his hands stroke small circles over her back.

“I do not believe what I feel now is merely magic.”

“ _Merely magic_?” He scoffs. “A less forgiving beast could rip out your heart and squeeze it to dust for such disrespect of the black arts, eh?”

She throws her head back and actually has the nerve to laugh, then thrusts her chest toward him. Her breasts are white and plump as doves in the low cut gown he’s conjured for her charming body. Grabbing his hand she brings it to her chest and says, “Do it then, I dare you,” with an enormous grin that makes her eyes sparkle in the candle light, now more sapphire than jade, but ever changing.

His fingers splay over her breast. His charcoal black nails scrape faintly at her. He feels her breath heave, her heart throb. Feeling her life force only amplifies his own, and he works his jaw trying to resist desire as it builds within him. “You are so certain I will not harm you,” he snarls.

“I am so certain,” she replies and presses herself into his hand. “Yes. I believe there is goodness within you, even if it is buried deep.”

“Oh, Belle,” he breathes. “It would seem bravery and stubbornness is also within your nature.”

“That it is,” she sighs and lowers one of her hands over his chest, grazes one of his stone hard nipples with her thumb. He groans and shifts as her soft, tender bum squashes down on his helpless arousal. “Am I too heavy?” She asks with a look of sincere concern.

“No, no. You are but a feather in my arms, Love,” he murmurs. “It’s just, well, I take it you’ve had little experience with men and the ways their bodies react when they are close to a beautiful lass?”

“Hmph!” Belle sniffs out a laugh. “You’d think that would you? Well, you forget to whom I was betrothed before you brought me here. Trust me, I know how such things work. Gaston was forever pulling at me, trying to have his way with me.”

He cannot help but growl and asks, “And did he have his way with you, Belle?”

Belle sits back and her eyes widen. “Would it matter?”

“No, of course not if it was your will. I just cannot bear the thought of someone forcing you into intimate congress against your will.”

“Well, it was not magic. I can tell you that much,” Belle says and touches the hollow in his throat with a novel look in her eye.

“Perhaps you should regain your own seat,” he suggests hoping she cannot feel how hard he swallows at the touch of her fingers on his throat.

“But why? I though I was no more than a feather in your arms?” Her hands knead his chest and he again wonders if the magic of the garden is too powerful. What had he been thinking creating this space, let alone staying in it with her?

“You may imagine you know how such things work, Dearie, but I am not certain you understand the effect you have on a man, Belle,” he says trying earnestly to ignore the thick throb in his leather breeches beneath her supple weight.

But Belle does not back down.

“Then help me understand,” she rasps and tickles his neck with delicate fingertips. “I so want to be close to you.”

It is his turn for curiosity. “But why? Why ever would you want to be close to me?”

She peppers his neck with kisses and he grinds his erection unabashedly against her, realizing with a helpless gulp that his hand is still upon her breast. It takes only a slight adjustment to feel the arousal of her darling nipple beneath his fingers. She moves against him responsively. “If I’m never to be close to another, might I at least be close to you?” Her whisper is accompanied by little licks of her tongue on his ear. No one has ever lavished him with such adoration. . . and yet. . .

“Is that it then?” He pushes her from his lap until she stands blearily before him.

“What?”

“You cannot be with anyone else so you’ll content yourself with a monster?”

“No,” she blinks as though trying to clear a haze of confusion from her eyes. “That is not it at all. Why have you pushed me away?”

“I believe I shall retire and allow you to enjoy the garden by night.” He stands and starts for the path, disbelieving when he feels a tug at his hand.

“Please do not leave me here alone,” she whispers. Tears fill her eyes. “I’m so sorry if I’ve overstepped my boundaries. You said you listened to me cry all afternoon. I was alone, but I found I wanted none other than you. I wept because I wanted to be near you, because I wanted to feel _your_ arms around me. Please, if this night is truly for me, do not desert me here. Grant me this wish.”

It is more than he can bear when her tears spill over the rims of her eyes and trickle down her cheeks. He rushes back to her. “Belle,” he murmurs and gathers her in his arms. It is an easy enough wish to grant, after all. “Do not cry. Hush now, hush,” he says and tilts her face up. With the soft cuff of his sleeve, he wipes at her tears and cups her jaw in his hands. “Lovely girl, fret not. I’ll not leave so long as you wish me by your side.”


	7. Shooting Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is definitely rated "E" so if that isn't your jam, please avert ye eyes, gentle readers. And if it is your thing, well then get a move on dearies!! I'm also thinking of posting this as a one shot, in case people need a "quick fix" of RumBelle smuttiness. Needs must. . .

Her breasts press against his chest through the thin silk of her dress. She is warm, easy against him, but her nipples graze like pebbles and send delirious sparks straight down his spine to his twitching prick.

She clutches the front of his blouse.

“I believe we have both been too much alone, have we not,” she says, her voice thick with what he believes to be a potent mix of desire and despair.

“Indeed,” he sighs. “Indeed we have.” He cradles the back of her neck in his hand and thinks how frail a creature she truly is, and yet here she is, toe to toe with the Dark One in a position no one else has ever dared assume.

“Is it so wrong we should seek comfort with one another?”

“Perhaps not," he murmurs and begins to lower his face, but bites himself back just inches before her. "Perhaps it is not wrong, Dearie, but Belle, do tell me something. Are you in love with me?”

“Oh,” she says and blinks as though she's just woken from a dream. “Well, I am fond of you. You have shown me wonders and allowed me to understand what it is like to be so many different things. You quite captivate me. But love? Of that I am not so certain.” She looks down and then back up at him. With quivering lips, she asks, “Have I disappointed you? Are you angry?”

“No! No, Belle, I am quite relieved,” he smiles softly and then lowers his face again, and this time he kisses her lips.

As soon as their lips meet, he realizes he’s never imagined they would ever kiss, yet, as soon as their lips meet, he realizes he’s never imagined how he’d ever live without the perfect tug of her mouth against his. She is more succulent than a peach warmed in summer sun, and he instantly becomes greedy and kisses her feverishly. Her fingers tangle in his wild mane and she licks eagerly at the seam of his lips, coaxing his mouth open so she can press her tongue into him. He gasps in surprise at how fearlessly she melts in his arms, how wantonly she grips his face to deepen their kiss. Power and lust course his veins. “I need you! Oh Belle, Belle, I must have you!” He groans.

“Yes,” she breathes. “Shall we retire to my chamber?”

“No,” he says and waves his hand. In a puff of violet smoke, a rustic bed appears, piled high with pillows and quilts, just a few paces from them. He scoops Belle into his arms, brings her to the bed, sets her down gently upon the pillows, and gazes at her. She looks back up at him, wild eyed with desire. For a moment, he stands, completely frozen, as if he’s been turned to stone. He does not know where to even begin.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong. It’s just I cannot fathom this is real, that you are real, Belle. It is all too much to believe.”

“Believe it,” she says and grabs his hands decisively to pull him toward her. With as much tenderness as he can possibly muster, he strokes the side of her face. A keen pride throbs in him at the sight of his golden scales and thick, ebony nails against her delicate, ivory skin. Such a fine contradiction they make, lying together, finding comfort in such radically different flesh, but comfort none the less. Belle turns her face and catches his thumb in her mouth. She nibbles it. He doesn’t even care how or why she has come to know how to do such a thing as a delirious growl escapes him and he rolls his hips against her. “Can you undress us in one of those poofs of smoke too?”

“Oh, yes, I certainly could. But I’d rather do it the long way,” he chuckles and walks his fingers to the laces at the front of her dress. He pinches the first set of ribbons and loosens them, then sets to kissing the flesh he has exposed over her chest and shoulders. The silk dress slides away easily enough, revealing a relatively simple corset beneath. Before he removes this lacy article, he mouths over one breast and then the other, creating whimpering and moaning noises from Belle as she arches her back and wiggles beneath him. Her nipples are tremendously responsive and he teases his tongue around their ridges until her chemise is damp and she is nearly beside herself. At last, he plucks open the laces to reveal her gorgeous, gleaming breasts. For the second time, he freezes as he takes her in.

“Am I alright?” She asks with a frown.

“What?”

“Well, I know I’m not the most curvaceous lady. I didn’t know if maybe you didn’t find me, uh, well, appealing, now you’ve seen me?”

“I swear to you, you are the most exquisite creature upon whom I’ve ever laid eyes,” he murmurs and devours her mouth with his as he rolls one of her tender breasts in his palm. He could cum just like this, his tongue in her mouth and his hand filled with the charming ball of her breast, fingers pinching the pearl of her nipple as he rubs himself, still sheathed in his pants, against her thigh.

A demon might be an acquired taste for some ladies, but he’s never lacked for intimate company if and when he desired it. If they were frightened it wasn’t his problem and after he’d taken pleasure, he’d not given their comfort so much as a second thought.

As a beast, he has had his way with women and creatures of the dark, and so darkness and boisterous congress was the expectation. For him, electric releases of animal sexuality within the borders of his magic spell have been exciting and satisfying. As the Dark One, he’s not taken any being to bed with any sort of affection let alone connection. It has all been primal, rough, even bloody, because that is what he has craved. He has licked it all from his fingers.

After all he is a monster.

However, now, with Belle beneath him, he wants very much to lavish her body with the attentions of a man and not a monster.

It challenges to temper himself, when all he wants is to tear the remaining stitches of clothing from her nubile body and slide into her, feel the relief of her, wet and clinging around him. But his stills himself and gentles his hands, which have begun pawing in earnest at her ribs and hips.

Belle reaches down and gathers the hem of his shirt in her fingers. She pulls it up and over his head. He holds himself up on his arms so as not to crush her, and catches the look of delirious wonder on her face as she strokes his bizarre but smooth flesh with her precious palms. “Oh,” she gasps.

“Do I horrify you, Love,” he asks, trying not to shrink in shame.

“No,” she exclaims. “No! You are glorious!” Her fingers press into the small of his back and travel down over his hips. “Oh, gods, I want to feel your entire body against mine!”

“Oh, Belle,” Rumple murmurs and in a puff of smoke he removes the last of their clothes. His leather breeches vanish as do her cotton pantalettes. The sensation of his naked prick nestled against her silken thigh is almost overwhelming in its suddenness, but he grits his teeth and reminds himself to be slow and soft.

“You are golden everywhere,” she whispers wondrously and reaches for his erection. Her fingers tickle him in curious exploration prior to clasping around him. He moans into her mouth.

“Touch me,” she whispers.

“I am touching you,” he says with a sneaky smirk.

“No. Touch me, down there. I’m mad for it! Please?”

“There’s nothing I’d love more,” he says and strokes down her naked thigh toward her sweetness. “But first you must do something for me.”

“Anything,” she gasps. “I’ll do anything for you!”

“Say my name, Belle. Call me by my name.”

Belle blinks at him a couple times, smiles, kisses him. “Rumplestiltskin,” she says against his lips. “Oh, Rumple, please, please touch me! Touch me, Rumplestiltskin.”

“Yes,” he growls, overcome with the magic of his name on her lips, and slides his fingers into her folds. She is so wet, so swollen. He’s never felt anything so good. It makes him leak against her as he fondles and presses and circles her tender bundle. She wiggles her hips, encouraging his ministrations. “Now, now, Love,” he teases and holds her hips down to prevent her from taking her pleasure too quickly. “Let’s not be greedy.”

“But by god, it feels so good,” Belle moans.

“God has nothing to do with it,” he giggles and stops his fingers from moving altogether. Belle whimpers in the sweetest protest he’s ever heard, but quickly grows desperate and responds to his withholding by dragging her lips over his neck and biting him. Rumple hisses with the surprise sting of pleasure and pain, and before he knows what he’s done, he sinks two fingers into Belle’s sopping core. “Clever, clever girl,” he says and curls his fingers to tickle the sweet spot he finds without any delay. She's tight and slick inside around his fingers. Mindful of his nails, he strokes her inner walls until her breath puffs hot and heavy on his neck, and her voice grows ragged calling his name.

Belle drags her hand down his back and over his hip and ass. She seems to want to feel every inch of his body but stops when she finds his cock, engorged and cushioned between their thighs. She works her hand in between them and wraps it around him. Squeezing gently, she measures his length and girth in her grip. She strokes him and pulls back his foreskin to free his head. It’s sticky with his seed, and she rubs her thumb through his slit to smear his slick more evenly around the blunt surface. Rumplestiltskin grunts as she fondles his overly sensitive tip. "Hold it tighter, Dearie, that's the way," he moans. Unable to resist, he pumps himself into her hand a couple times.

“Oh, now who’s greedy?” Belle laughs but does not stop squeezing or stroking him.

His fingers play her until he feels her pleasure build. When he withdraws, she whines but he adjusts his body atop her, angles his cock at her entrance, and she seems to content herself knowing she will soon be sated with another intrusion. He bites back animal lust and ferocious need to claim her. Swallowing heavily he asks, “May I?” Belle nods; big, blue eyes urge him forward into her lovely, dark cave.

His thick head pokes her entrance for a moment. Desire blinds him, as he grabs both her hips and starts to press himself in. For a moment, there is a bit of tension, a bit of resistance, and he hesitates, not wanting for the world to cause her any bit of pain, not wanting her to know anything other than pure pleasure in his embrace. He closes his eyes and begins to weave a bit of magic to make it easier on her, when suddenly Belle trusts up, grabs his ass with both of her hands and with a throaty groan, envelops his manhood in her enchanted garden. When he’s fully in, and he starts to move, she makes a little squeak and digs her nails into his backside. “Have I hurt you,” he gasps, raises himself up on an elbow to examine her beneath him.

“Quite the opposite,” she whispers and grins wildly. She bends her knees, threads them around his waist and coaxes him to undulate with her. “Oh, Rumple, I’ll spend so soon like this,” she whines. "You're so large, it's like you can stroke every part of me. I almost can't stand how good it feels," and the honey of her voice makes him rumble deep in his throat and move faster, makes him put a hand under her ass so he can take her deeper, makes him press his lips against her neck, her breast, her ear, anyplace it can find. He kisses her and drags his tongue over hers so he can feel every little bump. He gnashes her lips and chin with his teeth. When he grabs her breast, she squeezes her inner muscles tight around his prick and he feels the glowing ember of his orgasm build.

“Belle, Belle, Belle,” he blurts out as he grinds his hips down against her.

“Yes!” She nearly screams. “Oh, Rumplestiltskin, my Dark One,” she buries her face in his neck and clings tightly to him. She bites almost savagely into his neck and then he feels her suck up a bruise on his thick skin as he feels her explode around him, her muscles so tight it is as though she wrings his climax from him with every delirious pulsation. He cannot hold back another moment longer. He has been holding back his entire life, edging against this final moment of crisis. Again and again, he cries her name, and he erupts deep within her in what feels like a thick shower of shooting stars, a flow of golden light that feels like nothing ever has, and she is still coming too, or coming again with him. It lasts for what seems an impossibly long time, both of their bodies wracked with wave after wave of bliss.

He stays inside her, wraps his arms around her tightly and they hold one another close. With unending wonder, they look deeply into one another’s eyes as they float down from rhapsody, and know they feel precisely the same things.


	8. Chapter 8

“Can we stay here all night?” She asks, nestled in his arms, head on his chest in bed beneath the stars.

“If you like,” he murmurs. She’s lulled by his heartbeat, by the steadiness of his breath, by the gentle manner with which he nuzzles her hair. His skin smells of the earth before it rains, of fresh split wood, of well worn leather. “Are you warm enough, Belle?”

“Yes. I feel perfect. Everything feels perfect. I feel all aglow. Is this magic?”

“This? No. This is just me holding you.”

“And when we made love? Was that magic?”

“It certainly felt that way, didn’t it, Dearie?”

“It was amazing, but Rumple?” She props up for a moment on her elbow. “There are some things I’d rather not have tainted with magic, some things I’d rather have just be pure and real.”

“Tainted by magic,” he sniffs. “Well, you can relax. I did nothing unnatural during our intercourse. It was just as pure and real as this sweet, little dimple in your cheek.” He gives her a little pinch and she settles back in his arms. For a while they are quiet. They stroke one another in tender sleepiness beneath the quilts.

“Do you sleep?” She asks, the question suddenly occurring to her.

“I do. Not much, but I do need to get some rest. I suppose I’d be irrationally cranky otherwise, wouldn’t I?”

She giggles, “Yes, I suppose you would.”

“Well? What else are you wondering? I can practically feel the contemplation grinding away in your head upon my breast. What is it you want to know?”

Belle trails her fingers around his nipple and then lays her palm flat against his chest. “What were you like?” She whispers.

“Hmmh?”

“Before you were like this? Who were you? What kind of a man were you?”

“You assume I was ever anything besides the Dark One?”

“Well you must have been. No one is born inherently dark in their soul.”

“What do you imagine me to have been like, Belle?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think maybe you could have had a life like anyone else. I think you could have loved or lost or known and seen things of the world. Did you?”

“I suppose I did.”

“Who did you love?”

“Belle, you’d do well to remember yourself,” he says but his voice doesn’t scare her. How could it, when his fingers knead her scalp and his breath brushes her forehead like a wish?

“It’s alright if you don’t want to tell me, Rumple,” she sighs and hugs him. The world grows silent around them. “I am sorry if I’ve been too forward in my questions. Thank you so much for tonight.”

“You are most welcome, Belle,” he purrs against her. For a while it seems they will sleep. But then. . .

“You said before you were relieved I wasn’t in love with you.”

“What?”

“Before you kissed me. That’s what you said,” Belle whispers. “Why is that?”

“Leave it be, Sweetheart. Let’s not complicate things just now.” Rumplestiltskin pats her hip.

She does not heed the warning in his touch and continues, “But are you in love with me? I think you must be.”

“Mmmmh, you are a stubborn one,” he rubs his lips over her forehead. “I just might be,” he sighs.

“I don’t mind if you are, Rumple,” she yawns and tips her face up to peer at him. In the shadows, she can see very little of his actual features, but his eyes gleam. She puts her hand around his neck and pulls his face down so she can kiss him.

“You’d suffer the love of a Monster, would you, Belle?” His voice is gruff and tender at once and it sends shivers down her spine.

“Would I ever,” she says and smiles against his lips. “Because I know your secret, Rumplestiltskin.” She loves the effect it has on him when she uses his name, how he shudders almost euphorically against her.

“And what exactly is my secret?”

“You’re more than just a monster. I’ve said it from the start. No one who gleams so golden and gives a girl a secret garden could be completely dark to their marrow. I know this is true.”

“Stubborn and presumptuous,” he huffs and nips at the tip of her nose. Belle smiles and wiggles back down into his arms.

“I’m so sleepy.”

“Sleep then, Belle,” he says.

“Will you hold me all night?”

“Yes, Sweetheart. Of course I will.” He pulls the quilt around her shoulders and kisses her. “Sweet dreams.” Her breath grows heavy and slow as he holds her in his arms in their enchanted garden. He is about to drift off as well, when her voice startles him.

“I believe I might fall for you after all, Rumplestiltskin,” she says as she snuggles her face into his chest.

She has no clue how long she sleeps, but when she wakes, she is alone, in her bed chamber, tucked snugly in her own bed.


	9. Darkness Falls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okaaayyyyy..... so if you have read me before, you know I love me some angst. This gets a bit angsty, but it is short, and it will get better. I promise if you stay along for the ride, it will be worth it. xxoooxxxxooooo.

Throwing back the covers, she leaps from the warm quilts and cushions. She’s dressed in a simple, sleek nightdress of pale, blue silk. The room is warm. A fire blazes in her hearth, but she is most certainly alone. “Rumple?” She calls out. There is no answer. 

For a moment, she imagines it was but a dream. The door, the garden, the supper and the bed beneath the stars. But then she sees the door, clear as the day in which she finds herself, on the other side of her room. 

Bare footed, she approaches it. Although her hand is tentative on the knob, it opens the door easily enough, and reveals a garden bright with morning sun and balmy with sparkling dew. She races down the path a few paces, calls his name, but is met with only the squawk of a peacock as it struts by her. 

She retraces her steps to her chamber and opens the door that leads out into the castle. 

She does not know how long she runs through the mazes of hallways and rooms. He is not in the great room, or the ballroom, or the library. He is nowhere. She climbs the stairs until her limbs are sore. She screams his name until her voice is hoarse. When shadows grow long and darkness falls, she wanders back to her room. 

Supper has been set for her by the glowing fire, and her bed has been made. With a rumbling groan that comes from someplace so deep within her she didn’t even know it existed, she pushes the table over and watches all of the contents clatter to the floor. “I don’t want your magic!” She cries and spins around the room. A short burst of satisfaction floods her as she sees the decanter of wine, the crystal glass, the fine china filled with food shatter against the floor. She kicks at the mess she made and then throws herself onto her bed. Sobs ravage her body. 

“I can still feel you inside of me,” she weeps, rolling over to face the ceiling, grabbing her belly, pulling her hair. “There is no magic that will placate me! I want you!” Tears burn her cheeks. Never in her life has she cried so hard, not even on that first night when he threw her in the dark cell and left her there alone. She curls into herself, unable to breathe. “You must know!” She gasps. “I need you, please, come back. Come back!” 

She tries to make sense of it, tries to understand what she has done to cause him to exile her, because she knows that is her current predicament. Her current room with its magical meals and sumptuous furnishings and door to an enchanted garden is nothing more than a fancier cell than the first in which he imprisoned her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love all the comments and thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading and checking in. On a side note, I hope everyone is staying safe and being well during this dubious time. Much love and hope to one and all. xoxo.


	10. Price

Rumplestiltskin flies to the forest, not caring exactly where he goes so long as it takes him away from his castle, away from her. Icy wind threatens his face as he spirals through day and night, so fast he loses track of time. 

He’d watched Belle sleep, cradled her in his own arms under stars of his own creation. He’d kissed her forehead and made her smile in her dreams without a single twinge of magic and panic thrummed in him. From a deep well, he had felt insecurity and fear gurgle up and overflow until it took his breath away. 

How foolish had he been? Had he fallen victim to his own magic? 

She’d wake, and what then? 

Either she’d discover she’d been bedded by a monster and recoil in terror and disgust, or she would allow her pretty heart to melt against him and ruin everything he’d spent so long creating. Either option was not acceptable. For either scenario, the price was too steep. 

So he had slipped from her embrace and ran someplace dark and hidden where he could make a storm of his feelings. 

He rages against night as a child rages against a parent, knowing it is the only place he belongs, and simultaneously not wanting to belong there. He calls up lightening and hail, splits ancient trees down their middles, causes rivers to rise and floods their banks. 

It is the little rabbit who stops him, dead in his tracks. “Why you? Why don’t you move? Can’t you see the Dark One is at work here, foolish creature?” But fear paralyzes the animal and she stares up at Rumplestiltskin. Her fur shivers in the pale moonlight. He scoops the bunny up and regards it. It’s heart races against his fingers. Anger drains from him and is replaced by something else, an emotion far more terrifying. “Oh,” he gasps and clutches the bunny to his chest. The fur is softer than anything and his heart fills with sorrow as he starts for home.


	11. Fight and Flight

She does not know how many days he has been away, or even if it has been weeks. Time has blended into a strange and unremarkable flow of isolation. Food appears for her, as do books, gowns, jewels, and tubs of scented, steaming water in which she bathes for hours on end.

If she wanted, she could leave her room and be in other parts of the castle, or she could wander her enchanted garden, but most of the time, she lays in her bed or sits in her window. There seems no sense to Belle in changing venue only to be alone someplace new. So, she stays in her chamber. She doesn’t exactly grown accustomed to being alone; it is more of an acceptance or passivity to the fact he’s left her. She does not know why, but he has left. She is alone.

And then, just as suddenly as he left, he returns.

One day, she sits in her tower window and brushes her hair until it gleams. He announces himself with a curt knock on her door, and lets himself in before she can even stand and put down her brush.

“Shall we play, Dearie?” He opens his arms and minces into her chamber.

She opens her mouth and, “You’re back?” Are the only words she can manage.

“As usual your powers of observation are keen. I am indeed. . . back,” he says with a flutter of his fingers and a little bow.

“Where have you been?” Belle gasps. Rumple merely blinks at her. “Aren’t you even going to tell me where you have been?”

“Mmmm, no. And I’ll thank you to remember your place, Dearie,” he titters. Belle takes note of the peculiar glint of his skin, more green than gold, and his black, leather jacket. He is all angles, buttoned up tight, as though he’s wearing the skin of another animal.

“So that’s it then? You disappear for weeks on end and then reappear looking like a maniacal crocodile and I’m just supposed to placidly accept it?”

“That would be nice, yes,” he says. “I did come back after all, didn’t I? Now, if you would be so kind as to meet me downstairs, we can see what I can make of you today!”

Belle paces the length of her chamber in front of a grinning and impish Rumplestiltskin. "I feel like I'm losing my mind!" She exclaims. "Did nothing happen between us? Was all of that in the garden. . . was it just . . . nothing?"

"Now, Belle," Rumple croons. 

“Oh, don't you 'now, Belle' me you Devil! You want to play? Great! Let's play. What _will_ it be today?” Her voice surprises them both with its bitterness. “A mouse? A moth? Something small you can squash under your boot?”

“Now, now, why so ornery?”

“Or maybe you want to make me into a puppy that you can teach to fetch and retrieve?”

“Careful, Dearie, this is not like you at all.”

“ _Like you care!_ ” She breathes frantically.

“Oh but I do. Come now. Let’s have some fun. You know you like it.”

Belle steps up to the beast with a haughty posture and says, “There are a lot of things I _would_ like! Being your foolish toy is not one of them!”

“Foolish toy? What a thing to say.”

“How could I be anything else but a toy to you? After you wooed me with your magic, had your way with me, and left me? And how could I have been _anything_ but foolish to believe I’d ever meant anything more to you than a simple plaything?”

She notices him wince at her words, but the implication does not entirely register. “Belle,” he begins. “I had my reasons for leaving. I can’t explain them. I won't explain them. Not now.”

“Fine! Then turn me into a tiger so I can tear you apart with my teeth! Turn me into a bolt of lightening so I can set you on fire! Make me something wild and savage. Make me a beast like you!” She hurls her words at him with the force of a storm. Her fingers ball into fists at her hips and tears gather in her eyes, but she does not look away from him.

Her chest rises and falls violently, as she confronts him with her fierce stare. His eyes swirl violet and silver, and his skin glitters with frightening sharpness. For a moment, she is certain she has crossed a line from which she may never return. For a moment, she is certain he will reach out and put his hands around her neck and squeeze until all her life has gone, but Belle does not look away.

When he touches her, he does not do so in anger. His shoulders rise and lower in a somber sigh. With tentative gentleness, he reaches for her hands and takes them in his own, softens her fists and strokes her palms with his thumbs. “My apologies,” he whispers. He squeezes her fingers and frees her hands, then turns to take his leave. Belle gasps in panic at the thought of him leaving again. 

“A bird!” Belle says suddenly, if for no other reason than to stop him. It works. He turns his head, then his shoulders.

“What?”

“Make me into a bird today. Let me fly. Not inside the castle, or the magic garden, but outside. Really outside. Let me be free. Please. Just for today,” she steps toward him, fingers splayed and reaching for him, face softened and dripping with tears.

He takes no time to consider her request. “As you wish,” he sighs. With a flick of his fingers, he transforms Belle into a bluebird. He cups her in his hands. The black bead of her eye shines and she pecks him with her bright yellow beak once before spreading her wings and flying over his head around the room. He walks to the window and opens it for her. She flies out and is almost instantly beyond his range of sight, above the trees, flirting with the sky. Senses heightened, she hears his somber “Goodbye,” and she knows he expects she will never return.

She spends the entire day in the air, embracing wind with wings. She flies straight up until the air is practically too thin to breathe and then she allows herself to fall straight back down. Plummeting toward earth, she catches herself just before impact and swoops back up again. She does this over and over, until her body tires and she alights on a rock in the middle of a stream, drinks crisp water, and feels her heart throb in her chest. She listens to other forest creatures chatter until shadows grow long, then she fluffs her plumage and takes again to sky.

When she spies the window of her chamber, she flies to it without hesitation. From her perch on the sill, she can tell the beast has sat on the edge of her bed for hours. Perhaps he’s not moved all day since she left.

He does not hear her chirp at first. He does not even raise his face from his hands. She makes her bird song louder, sharper and his slumped shoulders straighten suddenly. He turns and opens his mouth in shock. Belle flies to her bed and lands on her pillow, exhausted. He lowers his head so he is level with the blue bird who’s chest heaves with the effort of her day.

“You came back?” He gasps. His voice is filled with gratitude and something else she cannot name. She chirps in response. “May I change you back, Belle?” She lowers her head and touches his hand with her beak. He waves his hand over the bird and Belle appears on the bed, breathing hard, eyes rolling to focus. He strokes her face, unable to contain his joy. He speaks her name, over and over, almost unaware he has stretched his body out on the bed alongside hers.

She clutches his arm. She’s smiles, feels his muscles flex through his leather as she clings to him. She sighs, “Thank you,” before she drifts into a deep and dreamless sleep.


	12. Return

When she wakes he is there, holding her. She nestles her body against his.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“It’s been a day and a half. You’ve quite exhausted yourself, Dearie. Was it nice?”

“Oh, oh, oh,” Belle sighs. “It was magical. It was better than anything I’ve ever known. I loved it so very much.”

“Then I am happy,” he says. He starts to move away and Belle whimpers. “I’m not going anywhere, but you need to eat. I’ve made you some broth. Can you sit?” Belle struggles to prop herself up on the pillows and Rumplestiltskin helps her. He then spoons some savory broth into her mouth which she swallows eagerly and opens her mouth for more. “Like a baby bird,” he murmurs and feeds her more. He produces some small chunks of bread and cheese when she is ready and brings a cup of wine to her lips to wash it all down.

“Thank you,” Belle says and sinks into the pillows.

“Most welcome,” he responds. "'Though I believe it is still I who should be thanking you for returning to me."

"I shall always return," she says with a little smile. She watches him set bowls and cup back on the table and then he stands by her bed. He seems not to know what to do with himself.

“I should allow you your rest,” he says at last.

“No, Rumple, please,” Belle pleads. “Please don’t leave me.” She extends an arm which shakes from weakness. He bows his head and returns to the bed, sits somewhat stiffly on the edge. “Come here. Hold me,” Belle says and pulls at his shirt. He’s dressed in a simple, soft blouse much as he was the night in the garden. “I need you near me.”

He reclines on the bed and wraps his arms around her. “Where did you go? What did you see, Little Bird?”

“Mmmh, no. You first. Where did you go. Or better still, why did you go?”

“I left because I’m a fool, Belle.”

“A fool? Surely not. You’re the King of the Dark. You’re all powerful and all knowing. Definitely not a fool. How could you think that or use such a thing to justify your absence?”

“Because it’s the truth. I left because I was scared of what I felt. Scared of what it meant. Scared of how you looked at me and the words you said.”

“But I meant them! I did. Perhaps I was the fool for saying them at all if they drove you away from me.” Belle tinkers with the ribbons at the neck of Rumplestiltskin’s shirt.

“You are not a fool and you are not a toy, Belle. Please do not say these things to me again.”

“I know this now,” she says and caresses his head. She weaves her fingers into his hair and pulls his face toward her own. “I am sorry I said such things.”

“Dear Belle, you owe me no apologies. But tell me one thing.” The sweetness of his breath on her face surprises her.

“Anything,” she sighs.

“If you had my powers, into what would you transform me, Belle?”

She considers his question, and as she does unlaces his blouse. She opens the material and nuzzles her face into the hair on his chest. He smells of cedar and spice, of leather, woodsmoke, and his own salty, spicy sweat. She breathes him in and presses her lips to his flesh, comforted by the primal beat of his heart and the fire of his heat. “I’d not transform you into anything else,” she says at last, raising her face back up to breath his breath again. She inhales the rich spearmint and remembers her herb garden back at home.

“You wouldn’t rather I was a fair and handsome prince?”

“No,” she says and seeks his lips with hers. At first she nibbles playfully at his mouth, but it takes barely any time at all before the kiss deepens. Belle opens readily for his tongue and sucks at it wantonly, but Rumple seems hesitant. Not breaking their kiss, Belle brings his hand to her breast. He moans and palms her through the thin material of the nightgown he’d dressed her in. Impulsively, he pushes himself against her thigh, and she feels the thickness of his desire. Unable to resist, she reaches down to stroke his length and pants softly upon his lips. She is distraught when he shoves her hand away and stops their kiss, suddenly.

“Belle, you need your rest. We should not take this any farther now,” he sounds as if he’s run a great distance.

“I’m not tired,” her voice is husky and strange with lust. She pushes him onto his back and climbs onto him so her body is flush against his. She rocks her hips down onto his agitation and he bucks back against her with a growl.

“I’m sorry,” he says instantly. Shame fills his eyes. He’s dropped his arms from her and clutches the bedsheets in his fists as if trying to gain control, but Belle sees how hard it is for him. His nostrils flare as he breathes hard, trying to swallow back snarls and other animal noises.

Belle clutches his face and stares directly in his swirling amethyst eyes. “Darling, Beast, you owe me no apologies,” she says and kisses him deeply. “I know who and what you are and I want all of you. Make your noises, take me as hard as you need. I will only want you more.”

“You don’t know what you are saying,” he whispers, but even as he says it he thrusts his hips up against her.

“I do know! Don’t ever presume to tell me what I do and don’t know again!” Belle declares and grinds herself down on him. She sits and strips her nightgown off so she is completely naked as she sits astride her beast, her Rumplestiltskin, in his leather breeches and plain silk shirt.

He’s fully erect under her and she’s leaking her own arousal all over the front of his leather, but it feels so good to rub herself against the ridge of his cock and after all, she is a woman who just announced she knows what she wants.

Rocking her hips back and forth over him, she starts to take her pleasure. She arches and her hair tickles her back all the way down to her bum. When she straightens, she finds Rumple watches her with awe and wonder writ over his sparkling face. He reaches for her breasts and rolls the cherry blossoms of her nipples between his fingers. Pangs of bliss course through Belle’s body as she rides her Demon King. Belle puts a hand on either of his shoulders and presses herself against him. She wriggles out of his hands and lowers herself, mashes her breasts against his face. He yelps with delight and takes a nipple between his lips, teases it with his tongue and even tests it in his sharp teeth. Belle moves her hands to his hips and pries at the bindings of his breeches. “I must have you,” she breathes. “I need you. I need this!”

“Ah, Belle you’re lovely. I’ll give you anything, Love, anything!” Rumple cries as he caresses the plump cheeks of her bottom. But when her fingers make their way into his trousers and graze the flesh of his overly sensitive cock as she tries to free it from its tight, leather prison, he starts suddenly and roars, unable to contain the beast within. The noise thrills Belle as much as it startles her. “Careful,” he hisses.

“I am not afraid,” Belle says and grips him firmly. Touching him excites every nerve in her. “Get rid of these,” she commands and Rumple immediately makes his pants vanish. Free from the confines of his garments, his cock springs up against Belle’s stomach. Belle rises on her knees so she can rub the wondrously thick head against her clit. She knows not what has come over her, or where she got such an idea; she knows only how electrifying it feels to slide him over her slick bud in lazy circles.

She closes her eyes and throws her head back. Behind her eyes, visions start to flash. _Her herb garden back home. The river she flew over as a bird. The stone cell Rumplestiltskin kept her in the first few nights she was with him._ She opens her eyes and realizes she’s breathing hard. Her mouth is dry. She swallows and licks at her lips trying to make some moisture but none comes. Her body feels light and heavy all at once.

“Belle?” She hears Rumple’s voice as if through a deep pool of water. “Belle, are you alright, Love?” His voice seems to come from a corner of the room, from someplace that is not exactly him. She raises her hands before her face, and sees they trail light from them. She’s slid from his body and is somehow on her back. _She’s nothing. She’s air. She’s falling like a bird._ He’s looking down on her with terrified concern. It’s the last thing Belle sees before she slips into unconsciousness.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. So, I am super late to this party, but I am 1005% RumBelle trash so I wanted to give a fic a crack. As with a lot of my stuff, this was meant to be a one shot and ended up being a lot longer so I decided to break it up into little chapters. I absolutely adore comments and try to respond to everyone. Thank you so much for taking the time to stop and read. xo.


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